


wash away my sorrow, take away my pain (your love's coming down like rain)

by girlsarewolves



Series: exchanges [40]
Category: Arrow (TV 2012)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Cunnilingus, F/M, Fade to Black, Oral Sex, Penis In Vagina Sex, Porn with Feelings, Rain, Storms
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-03
Updated: 2020-10-03
Packaged: 2021-03-06 23:35:11
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,285
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26367283
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/girlsarewolves/pseuds/girlsarewolves
Summary: “Tell me what you’re thinking,” Oliver whispers in the dark. His breathing is slow and even, his heartbeat a muted drum under her ear. His fingers stroke her hair while she rests her head on his chest. All adding to the comfort of the rain. Something soothing. Constant.Not like they used to be.“I’m thinking about storms. The ones that rage inside people,” she whispers back. She knows he’ll understand.Oliver has his own storms for a soul.
Relationships: Laurel Lance/Oliver Queen
Series: exchanges [40]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1269893
Comments: 2
Kudos: 8
Collections: Het Swap Exchange 2020





	wash away my sorrow, take away my pain (your love's coming down like rain)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [VampirePaladin](https://archiveofourown.org/users/VampirePaladin/gifts).



> Set sometime during an AU season three or four, where Oliver and Laurel try again.

* * *

Rain falls on the building. A soft, steady constant that in the dark is more of a lullaby than alarm. There’s no wind tonight, no distant rumble or sharp clap of thunder. Only the gentle pitter-patter of the rain.

Laurel appreciates the mood it gives. It’s rejuvenation that pours down over them, not grief, not chaos, not rage. Sometimes Laurel feels like her soul is a storm - messy and unpredictable and destructive. Always churning, whirling, blustering through. Ever since a storm took Oliver and Sara from her and exposed their lies. It weakened over the years, but always stuck with her, just under the surface.

It came back with Oliver. It came back when she lost Tommy. It came back with Sara. It came back when she lost Sara again. It thundered and shook her bones like the rattling walls of a house, and it almost consumed her. So many times it almost consumed her. 

“Tell me what you’re thinking,” Oliver whispers in the dark. His breathing is slow and even, his heartbeat a muted drum under her ear. His fingers stroke her hair while she rests her head on his chest. All adding to the comfort of the rain. Something soothing. Constant.

Not like they used to be.

“I’m thinking about storms. The ones that rage inside people,” she whispers back. She knows he’ll understand.

Oliver has his own storms for a soul.

“Any particular reason?” The question is innocent, but there’s concern in his tone. His fingers don’t falter, his heart doesn’t miss a beat. Oliver is good at that. At keeping his storms in check. He’s had years of practice, and harder, meaner teachers than she’s had so far.

“The rain.” It’s not a lie so much as a half truth. But Laurel’s pretty sure she’s a right to those now and then, after all the lies and half truths Oliver’s given her. Not that she’s still keeping score, as tempting as it can sometimes be. But when he doesn’t press, doesn’t question, doesn’t falter with his fingers combing through her hair, Laurel is already buckling to the fast developing guilt.

They both promised they would do better this time around if they gave it another go.

“It’s the anniversary in a week.”

Oliver’s fingers in her hair pause for a split second. Just enough for her to notice the falter in their rhythm. His heartbeat remains steady, but his chest expands, swells as he takes a deep breath and sighs it out. “Yeah. I know. You want some space?” 

Laurel wants to say no. Wants to say she’s moved past it. That when she wakes up and looks at her calendar or her phone and sees the date, she doesn’t have to spend the day fighting off crying fits and phantom anguish that even now, even with Oliver and Sara back, still feels painfully real and familiar. She wants to say that she can get through it fine and won’t freak out, won’t lash out, won’t snap and snarl while resisting the almost painful craving to drown her problems in wine or whiskey or whatever else she can get her hands on.

They’d both promised they were trying, not just as a couple, but individuals.

“I might.” The words hurt. She doesn’t want to push him away. Especially when she knows it’s not an easy time for him, either. Her fingers subconsciously trace over some of the scars on his torso, reminding herself of this fact.

Oliver’s other hand moves to lay over her wandering fingers, and he shifts - just enough to kiss the crown of her head. “It’s okay. I knew coming in we’d be going slow. There’d be times you or I would need distance. You’re taking a chance with me again, and even if you need space from me more often than nights like this - it’s worth it.”

In the distance, thunder rumbles. It’s low, with little vibration. Still a ways off. The rain doesn’t pick up. There’s only a slight breeze.

Laurel nods. Tucks those words away in her mind to hold onto when she needs reminding. “I’m sorry -”

“Don’t,” he whispers. He’s shifting, moving, rolling them both over so he’s hovering above her, barely visibly in the dim, blue-electric light from the alarm clock on her bedside table. He’s smiling though, that she can tell. “We’re going to do this right this time. And that means taking our time and claiming our space.” He leans in then, mouth on hers, and it’s so intimately familiar to her. “Besides. Thea likes to spend time together for this anniversary, anyway.”

“Okay.” Laurel smiles back, most of her guilt assuaged by the mention of Thea - of course she’d want to spend time with Oliver then, it’s not like Laurel has a claim on the pain of it. “Sounds good. Now how about you kiss me again, Mr. Queen,” she whispers, keeping her face close to his so he can feel the impish smile on her lips.

Oliver laughs into her as he does exactly as she asks before trailing kisses over her jaw, down her neck. His hands are roaming now, acutely aware of all her sensitive spots and searching them out without mercy. His mouth follows suit, teeth and tongue sending shivers and shocks of pleasure that race through her until they pool between her legs.

There’s a whole new storm bubbling up in her now, a pleasant one that Oliver’s always been the best at forming. Laurel writhes against the mattress, arching up when Ollie’s mouth latches onto her nipple. The sweet, sharp sting of teeth clamping on it has her moaning instantly, hands clutching at the sheet. “Fuck, Ollie,” she gasps when he kisses his way to the other one and bites there, too, the air cool against her skin where his mouth has been.

Outside the rain is falling harder. Thunder shudders through the apartment.

Kissing down until his between her legs, Ollie’s groan as he tastes her cunt shudders through her body. 

“Don’t stop,” Laurel pants, one hand moving to cup the back of his head. Her fingers curl, nails scratching through hair, against his scalp, while her hips buck up as his tongue strokes over her clit. She can feel that storm building in her core - a wildfire, not a rainstorm, something scorching, consuming. Burning higher and hotter every time he sucks hard, every time he switches back to stroking with his tongue, until finally she’s screaming his name as she comes. That fire burns white hot, spreading throughout her body until there’s only embers left, glowing faintly in the aftermath.

Lightning illuminates the room through the curtains, and the apartment rattles seconds later as thunder booms over the city. The wind is howling now, the rain peppering down on the building so that it pounds instead of patters.

Laurel lays there, panting, skin damp with a fine sheen of sweat as Oliver crawls back up to kiss her. She moans at the taste of herself on his lips, his tongue, slick and well known to her. “Fuck me,” she breathes and kisses him again.

Oliver laughs and nods, settling between her legs, already hard against her thigh. “Yes, Ma’am,” he replies, the grin on his face obvious against her pulse before he kisses there. It’s bliss when he reaches down, guides his cock inside her and stays, just stays there for a moment. His teeth clamp down on her pulse, dragging before he mumbles, “Fuck, love you,” into her skin.

“Love you, too,” Laurel moans, arms wrapping around, holding him to her. 

They’ll make it work. Somehow, they’ll make it work this time. For now, they can just ride out the storm.

* * *


End file.
